Metacognition: Inspiration, then perspiration.

Inspiration, then perspiration.

These wise words came from the mouth of my incredible guitar teacher way back in seventh grade, as I struggled to finished a song. He could see my frustration because the notes weren't just coming to me like they always had. So he said, and I'll never forget it, "For everything you create, and I mean everything, there will always be two parts to the process. The first, inspiration, and the second, perspiration."

That memory got me through this poem, because this was NOT an easy one, at all.

Not going to lie, the grade is always the motivating factor in how a student goes about writing a paper, poem, story, anything. Every student knows what their teacher likes, and they channel that into hopefully what comes out to be an A+ paper. So, no matter how hard I tried, this poem was grade driven. Not to mention, (and I am going to address the elephant in the room), that, Mr. Allen, we didn't really agree on the direction this poem was going either. Pair that with the fact that I was sucked dry of all my inspiration about 10 minutes into this piece, and you've got one baffled author. But sometimes it's that brain sweat that makes the end taste so sweet.

So, I began. I laid down in the center of my bedroom floor, lit the incense, heated my tea, and opened my laptop. This has always been the normal setting anytime I know I have a creative challenge ahead of me, and usually the environment really does help the ideas flow. But not this time. This time sucked. Anything my mind came up with, my heart rejected, and any ideas my heart produced, my mind shut down. I just wasn't agreeing with myself. So I did the roll. We've all done it (or maybe I'm just weird). It's a roll side to side like a pig in mud thing I do, to try and get my blood flowing. Nothing. I tore out the old thesaurus. Nothing. I listened to every single classical song I could find titled "Monday." Nothing. I read The Giving Tree probably ten times because it's the best book in the world and always inspires me. Something.

The little boy in The Giving Tree took and took and took from the tree until it had almost nothing left to give him. I had written two songs already that day and my mind just had nothing left to give me. So, where was I going to get the rest of my poem from? Life. Hello, duh, this could totally be a non-ficition poem. It might be a little revealing, but I'm generally a pretty open person anyway. I recalled a specific weekend as best I could and rolled with it.

That made it easier, but still not easy. But it's never going to be easy. And what I got was a halfway decent poem, maybe not a Grammy award winning song, but hopefully A grade work. I perspired the hell out of that poem, because sometimes you can't ride inspiration entirely to the end. And that's okay.

It's the inevitable process of art making: Inspiration, then perspiration.

Get Organized: How Wonderful Summer Is

I don't clean.

Let me repeat myself. I do not clean. Ever. But, for you Mr. Allen, I will reluctantly clean out my Camelbak from the summer.

Oh, the Camelbak. This turquoise backpack carried my life, and 2 liters of water at all times this past summer. It was small, but suited my needs. Many an item made its way in and out of it throughout June, July and August, but only a select few items nestled themselves into the bottom and still remain. And because I NEVER clean, it has been sitting in the corner of my bedroom ever since school started.

Little did I know when I started this project that it would bring back a plethora of memories that made my heart ache horribly.

I started at the side pockets, otherwise known as the cup holders that no one ever uses to hold cups. I found two pairs of sunglasses, both broken. Somehow I managed to break these even when I had them hanging around my neck all summer; it's a special skill. That was a frustrating find. Along with those, I found 90% deet bug spray, band aid wrappers, red, white and blue beaded necklaces, a Twix wrapper labeled in all French, and a list of songs we repeatedly listened to on our way to Canada. I laughed as I encountered each of these items. I didn't use one drop of the bug spray all summer because I love getting bitten by mosquitos, which resulted in the use of multiple band aids because of how much scratching I was doing. The red, white and blue beaded necklaces were from the 4th of July, and I had to take them off to jump in the lake. I was hungry when I bought the Twix, and as for the list of songs, each of them are constantly on repeat on my iTunes. It's funny how these memories lingered.

I moved onto the small front pocket where I found way to many hairbands, tons of Canadian coins and about ten packs of saltine crackers, crunched and crinkled. The crackers made me giggle. Camp served crackers along with chili one day at lunch, and my friend and I hoarded them because we wanted to go back to the cabin and see who could eat them in under two minutes. It was always a funny way to distract ourselves from the heat.

Finally, I tackled the main pocket. I found two journals, one was labeled "Summer 2011," and the other "Summer 2012." I set them down on the ground. I reached my hand back in and dug up more saltine crackers, a picture one of my campers had drawn for me, an earring, a Walmart receipt, starburst wrappers, and something sticky. The receipt said I had bought an AW Trunk and a 2 pack of boxers. I don't know what the AW Trunk is but I definitely bought the boxers. How could I not? They were so comfortable, and cute. The picture my camper drew was sweet, but horribly out of proportion and the starburst wrappers were from the candy we snuck into our cabin.

I moved on to the best part of this little adventure: the journals. I remembered writing in the Summer 2011 journal like it was yesterday, but the Summer 2012 journal slipped my mind. It could've been empty for all I had known. I opened it, expecting a blank page, but instead I came across this passage, probably from the last night on our trip to the Georgian Bay.

I itch. I itch all over and I can't lay still. It's not only my mind that is fleeting, it's my soul. The stars were mocking all of us tonight. We laid out just to look at them but we couldn't help but feel them too; we tried to reach for them. We laughed, sang, talked, realized we smelled like shit, and then slowly retreated back to our tents. We all thought the same thing. If only this could last forever. But just like the stars only seem bright because they lay on a backdrop of a dark night, so do days like these. We must experience those days full of tears and pain before ones like these come along. Then we appreciate them. I hurt with happiness. I won't sleep tonight, or the one after that. I can only smile. How wonderful life is.  

I sighed and shut the journal.

So, now as I type this, the floor of my bedroom is cover in wrappers and crackers, sunglasses and pictures and journals and hairbands; my bedroom floor is covered with my summer. And what am I going to do with it? I think I'll return it all where it belongs. It was a pleasant surprise finding these things, and I'd like for it to happen again in the future. The sunglasses should go back in the side pocket, and the journals should slip back to where they were before. And I'll put my Camelbak back in  the corner of the room to collect dust once again. It is autumn and unfortunately, summer is months away. This stuff is the gold of my summer. Every once and awhile I discover it and feel rich with memories. And every time I find it, it reminds me that I don't have to wait until June to relive my summer again. But oh, how wonderful summer is.

Metacognition: Poetry

Cup of tea to my right. Record player to my left. Cell phone off, and incense on. The same journal I've used since 6th grade, and a pen, front and center. Welcome to the battleground of my next masterpiece. The constant fight between my judgmental mind and my fleeting heart occur here, on the floor of my dimly lit bedroom. Usually, a guitar is laying around somewhere too but not today. This time, I'll have to create my piece of art without it. I truly try to wrap my entire mind around this poem, but seriously, how long will that last? The events unfolded as follows.

I roll side to side trying to think of what to write about. Clearly, the judgmental side of me is taking control, because it seems I usually have a plethora of ideas, but not this time; none of them are good enough. My mind begins to wander. My bedroom is so boring, I think. Why are my walls grey? Elephants are grey, but they aren't boring. Elephants can be cool though, like the Buddhist ones or whatever. I run to the computer to search "cool symbolic elephant" on Google. I find one. Wow, that would look really good as a tattoo, I think. Tattoos hurt. But it is totally worth it cause they're awesome, but they still hurt. Pain. What is true pain? I ponder this thought. Wait, stop. I have to write a poem. Mondays mornings are true pain. Losing that lacrosse game to Hinsdale was pretty painful too. Woah. Epiphany. I'm amazing. I print out the picture of the elephant, run back to my room and tape it on the wall. I return to the floor and keep rolling. But these poem ideas are just not good enough, I think to myself. Yea, but this is English class I'm not trying to write an Emmy award winning song and I can hear that Chemistry homework calling for me. I make the decision that I'll try to make these far from perfect poem ideas as flawless as possible. I turn on some Brother Ali and Kanye to help me out. They are, of course, true poets.

The hard part is over. Once I get my pen moving, it doesn't usually stop.

Ten minutes later and I've struggled through the entire first draft of both poems and I've read them over to myself multiple times, putting stress on different words as I try to pull the most meaning out of them as possible.

Not going to lie though, these poems were harder to write than others. This time, I had one audience member in mind, Mr. Allen, a expert critic, and I've never been comfortable in front of small crowds. So I also made the decision that less is more. In later drafts, I would let the language speak, and allow the reader take what they want from it.

What surprises me about my thinking? Nothing really, except that I am way more distracted than I should be, but it's the distraction that leads me to the gold. What do I like about my thinking? Oh gawd, that is a horrible question. Nothing and everything. My brain is completely scattered, but I love getting lost in it. That's where my music/poetry comes from. It's also kind of an entertaining thought process. My mind must be doing something right because I always finish with a halfway decent product. What would I like to work better? Nothing, nothing at all. If my brain worked any better I would probably go crazy.

Writing these poems, affected more than my English grade. I am now seriously considering getting a symbolic elephant tattoo on the side of my ribs, I hate Monday mornings even more, and there is now a page in my journal, with two modest poems, that I have to look back on one day. The dynamic of my thinking is all over the place, but look what I got out of it.

What does Metacognition even mean anyway? Sorry, that was brain speaking.

Blogging Around

The first blog I commented on way the wonderful Kali Croke's, who never ceases to amaze me. Her entry was titled iMedia: "Society" by Eddie Vedder. Kali spoke of the movie Into the Wild and one of the songs written by Eddie Vedder, in its soundtrack. The song, Society, comments on how our current world measures peoples worth on their material goods. Croke, voiced her opinion on how society should really be and my comment was as follows:

KALERS!

How are we so alike? I love this blog post because I agree completely with it! You put my thoughts into words! Not only is "Into the Wild" one of the best movies ever made, because it portrays such a powerful story, but Eddie Vedder's moving music fits it perfectly as well. I think part of the reason I love this song in particular so much is because I connect it with the movie, and everything it stands for.

This blog post really got me thinking, because what you are asking is simply, How do we escape something that is all we've ever known? Society is life (duh). It is hard to wrap your head around the idea of living in a way that really no one has ever lived before. We just don't know what that way is. I love that you suggest that we start "keeping score" in terms of mental, intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and philosophical worth. I love that you're optimistic enough to even suggest that.
Call me a party pooper, but I just can't see a world like that.

People are naive. People are so naive that they can't fathom a society where material goods aren't important. For as long as we can tell, people have always measured, paid, and traded based on a good's worth. Personally, I'm like you Croke, I don't like it, but these days people really don't seem to care about people's intellectual worth. It's ridiculous to think a little piece of paper can be worth 20 or 100 dollars. Christopher McCandless probably thought just that; he felt it so strongly that he ran away. However, you can't pay for something by giving the cashier a few fun facts or proving that you're smart. 

These days life has got a price on it, and you're right Kalers, we have to stop measuring, because the true value of life is priceless.

The second blog I commented on was the sassy yet kind Nikki Grundy's post named 360 Degrees: Moral Questions. In this entry, Nikki battled with the question of whether it was right to steal an ear of corn from a farmer if her family is starving. 

Nikki,

This reminds me of some questions my math substitute asked my class in eighth grade. They were all on the topic of lying, and she asked us, "Is it wrong to lie about..." questions, progressing from horrible lies, to not as bad lies. The last question was, "Is it wrong to lie about taking a cookie from the cookie jar when you weren't supposed to?" You can imagine that a group of eighth graders of course answered with a resounding "no". It's only a cookie, there are a million more cookies in the world, and it's not like anyone is getting hurt.
Isn't that the same idea you had with the corn? Nobody is getting hurt, in fact, you are helping your family, and the farmer would probably never notice. But is it RIGHT?
Seriously, that question kills me. Right against wrong. We commit some wrongs, we're humans, we can't help it, but isn't the point to try to live a good life and do as little wrong as possible. But that cookie just looks so dang good, and you need the corn to live.
Sometimes, I think it's just a judgement call. Will my mom be disappointed when she finds out I lied to her? Yes. And is it worth that cookie? Probably not. But your situation, is more extreme and desperate. And in your case, I agree with you one hundred percent, life is worth much much more than trying not to hurt someones feelings because you took and ear of their corn.

360 Degrees: Through the Fish Eye Lens

Yesterday we talked in class about the poem "The Fish," by Elizabeth Bishop. One of the parts of the poem that stuck out to me most was the author's mention of the fish's eyes.

"I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass." (34-40)

So, I thought to myself, why not use my blog post to look at things from a fish's point of view? Okay, well not literally a fish's point of view, but through a camera lens called the Fish Eye Lens. I have always found pictures through this type of lens intriguing. They're meant to stimulate the way fish see things, but it's hard to really say whether it is accurate or not. Regardless, I love this picture. And I know that I wouldn't love this picture unless it had been shot in this way, through this lens.

I see things through my eyes, human eyes, all the time. But seeing this through a different set of eyes makes it even more beautiful. The way the color of the rocks roll into the water, and the way the water seems to stretch itself to just barely touch the sky is amazing. The way this picture is curved almost makes it seem like it covers half the earth.

But pciture this. What if I looked at this backwards? I mean literally, beginning in the center of this body of water and rolling towards the rocks? Or what about if I looked at it from a bird's eye view? Or from the top of that tree on the right? Or underwater, looking up? I can visualize this image from so many different perspectives and that is what makes it interesting. If this picture was shot through a normal lens, it wouldn't have sparked a curiosity in my mind about how I look at things because it would all be the same to me, I would've seen it all before.

Seeing things through the eyes of someone else -- an animal, object, or person -- awaken you to the different angles people see things. Just like you might like the taste of broccoli, but someone else doesn't, people look at things in various ways too. To me, this is a picture of absolute beauty, purely because I am looking at it in a way that I have never experienced before. I have seen plenty of sunsets, and I can promise that they never get old, but looking at this one through the fish eye lens reminds me that I can always find something new and interesting about everything I see just by looking at a different way.

So, obviously a fish didn't take this picture because it isn't exactly from under water, but I would love to see it from that perspective too. A simple image, that is really all this is. And yet, it asks me to quit looking at things the way I always have and try something new. All I need is an open mind, and open eyes.

iMedia: Flight of the Frenchies

So, what do you think? 

I found this video a few years back and was unexpectedly struck by it. A few months ago, I revisited it after not watching it for a very long time, and still, it amazed me. I watched it one more time before I posted it here, and I still find myself intrigued by these guys. My dad thinks they're insane, my mom thinks they're downright stupid, and I think they're perfectly normal guys doing beautiful and unbelievable things. 

These base jumping, line walking, high-lining men are really just what our world needs. Now, this is not to say that everyone should be flinging themselves off mountains and buildings just for the thrill of it. However, people should be doing the things they love because they love it, and for no other reason at all. I highly doubt that these guys decided to do this because they wanted fame or money (they probably spend more cash than they make). They did it because they wanted to. How incredible do you think you would feel if this was you? Talk about feeling on top of the world. And everyone has a right to feel that way. If you want to be a musician when you grow up, who has the right to tell you you can't? The same goes with being the president, an athlete, or really anything else. Do what you want to do and don't let anyone or anything stop you. 

Remember two things: Money doesn't buy you happiness and before you can please other people, you need to please yourself first. I can almost guarantee the parent's of these people did not encourage this type of activity, but it doesn't matter because they are happy. What can be better than that? 

I think the thing I love most about this video is that the "frenchies" are scared , and yet they still do these insane things. It's scary taking a risk, no doubt about it, but the outcome is worth every drip of sweat. Do you want to go somewhere in life? Take a risk. Don't think about it, thinking to hard will kill you. Instead, just do it. If these guys thought about how high up they were every time they walked across that line do you think they would do it? Absolutely not. Literally, they jump. Life should be about jumping. Don't look back on life and remember how you looked over the ledge but were too afraid to leap. This video exemplifies a line I try to live by, and you should too:

"Don't fear danger, seek it."

Best of the Week: Sex and Gender

Gender: the behavioral, cultural, or psychological traits typically associated with one sex 

Sex: either of the two major forms of individuals that occur in many species and that are distinguished respectively as male or female especially on the basis of their reproductive organs or structures 

I learned something new past this week; Sex and Gender are different words, with different meanings. Surprised? Yea, I was too. For as long as I can remember, sex and gender have been used interchangeably and are the same thing and a female was a girl, and a male was a boy. And as far as I've known, genetically, anatomically, physically, and mentally, everyone's sex and gender have agreed with each other. Now I haven't been living under a rock, but I think I just didn't acknowledge these differences. It's not new that people have had conflicting feelings about their gender and sexuality, but suddenly this has been an issue that every presidential candidate has to have a stance on, and every normal person has their own opinions on too.  

So, when we discussed in class if there was a difference between sex and gender, I completely doubted that there was a difference between the two. I have absolutely nothing against the LBGTQ groups, but I didn't think anything of it. If your a male, your a male, if you're female, you're female. Every human being is biologically one or the other. No debates. It's scientifically proven. But, when we read the definitions of the words in class, I admit, I was wrong. You can't biologically or scientifically prove gender. It's based on thoughts and feelings. So does that mean, that if I filled out a survey that asked my gender and I wanted to say I was a boy, I could? And if a boy was filling out a survey, could he say he was a girl? Could someone be male, yet be a girl? Female, yet a boy? Am I ignorant to the obvious, or have the differences of the two words been masked from society? I think the ladder. I'm not pointing fingers, or blaming anyone, but I am sure that the majority of people don't recognize that sex and gender are not the same thing. It is not that they ignore this, they just don't know. 

Now that I know this information, I'm not going to suddenly start preaching that people use these words in the wrong context, or that they are not acknowledging that it might be a sensitive subject for someone. I think I'll let the two words create a meaning inside of me, and I can guarantee that every time someone uses either of the terms, I'll think about their true meaning.  Most of the time, a male is a male in both sex and gender, and a female is a female as well. The difference between the two words seem small because they don't apply to most people, but the difference is huge for some. How hard would it be to be a female boy and not have anybody understand? I can't exactly relate, but I think that now I have a better understanding of what the words mean and how they apply to people who truly have different sex and genders, it opens my mind to a plethora of subjects that surround around the disagreement of two simple words, and how I can help by knowing that sex and gender are different words, with different meanings. 

What If: Fictional Autobiography

So we've been reading Orlando by Virginia Woolf, and in this book Woolf plays with the idea of a fictional biography; she takes real people, and makes up fake stories about their lives, the main character being Orlando in particular. This type of writing has gotten me thinking. Virginia Woolf pictured their lives a certain way, she had complete control over what she wanted these characters to do and feel. Woolf got inside the characters heads. Thinking about this, I got into my own head. I have hopes, dreams, and plans for my future. What if, right now, I wrote a fictional autobiography?

I don't want to pat myself on the back, but I think this is kind of a genius idea. The autobiography wouldn't be totally fictional, rather it would be like writing your bucket list down in story form. If you wanted to, I guess you could alter the past, but that would sort of be wishing for something that can never happen. Ideally, I could write down my life story right now. A complete autobiography of the most exciting and intrigueing experiences in my life. My wishes, my dreams and my goals would all be bound together in a novel. It might sound ridiculous, but I guess if I wrote an autobiography it would drive me to make those things that I write about some true.

There would probably have to be some logic to it. The characters would be the people I currently know and love, and my experiences would have to be realistic (and by that I mean anything can happen) but this is creative liscense at its finest. The writer isn't just given the ability to make up words and sentences that are gramatically incorrect, they're given the right to create a story made of fantasy, and make it reality.

I think the best thing about this idea is that it's so ridiculous. I mean, let's face it, we all have ideas for what is going to happen down the road from now, when in truth, we have no idea what will even happen tomorrow. We could write down our entire future, plan it all out, but how accurate will it really be? If I wrote my own autobiography right now, it would probably include me living with the native tribal people of another country, climbing to the top of mount Kilaminjaro, joing the Peace Corps, and building an entire house with my own two hands in Africa. Will I actually end up doing these things? I really, truly, hope so.

Maybe I will write this fictional autobiography, and I'll pack it away up in the attic to collect dust. And one day, when I'm old and grey, I'll read it again. When I finish the book, I might be filled with satisfaction because I fufilled my own predictions, or maybe I'll lean back in the chair and laugh how naive i was, and maybe I'll scoff at myself for not being as adventurous as I predicted. I'm not one to live past the next few hours, but it just seems interesting. Virgnia Woolf took this character, and owned him. She gave Orlando life, and experiences. I have that exact same power to own myself; I can give myself these experiences only I have the complete authority to make them reality.

Fictional autobiography. Who knows, it could be fictional now, but it doesn't always have to be. The only person that can make that happen is myself.